


I Can Pretend (It's A Good Day)

by TheAnxiousAce



Category: Freakazoid (Cartoon)
Genre: AU - alternate universe, Band-Aids, Bullying, Dexter is Done with today, Duncan is a Jerk, Freak has his own body, Hurt/Comfort, Implied one-sided attraction, and has since he came out of the Chip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnxiousAce/pseuds/TheAnxiousAce
Summary: What starts out as a bad day becomes worse when Duncan decides to corner Dexter after school. Good thing Freak is always there to help pick him back up.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	I Can Pretend (It's A Good Day)

Dexter hit the ground hard. His glasses flew off and his chin stung and he narrowly avoided biting his tongue in two. 

Overall, not a great end to not a great day.

He could just make out two pairs of feet - blurry, the colors melting together without his glasses to keep them straight, and it wasn't like it really mattered who they belonged to anyway. There was a whole school full of people to guess from.

"Have a nice _trip_ , Pointdexter?" That was Duncan, who was still standing behind him.

The other two - Dexter didn't know who they were today, hadn't gotten a good look as he'd been passing by - guffawed at the joke as though they hadn't heard it a million times in the exact same situation. Dexter didn't even think it was that funny, seeing as Duncan hadn't even tripped him. 

He'd shoved. 

Dexter didn't answer. 

He knew what came next and he braced himself for it.

Duncan grabbed his backpack by the handle and hauled him up, feet dangling just a few inches off the ground. And wasn't this just great, hanging in the air as his older, stronger, jerkier brother showed off how great he was by lifting a 90-pound-nothing. 

Dexter was pretty sure he was only using one hand, too.

He tried to squirm around, slide his arms through the straps on his backpack. Duncan just heaved him up higher, the straps cutting into his arms, until he stopped. 

It had only worked once, but still worth a shot. Or maybe not. Maybe this would be over faster if he just let it happen.

"Where you running off to, Pointdexter?"

That was one of the blurry, faceless ones. He couldn't tell who it was without his glasses, and he didn't care enough to figure it out by voice. It would be someone he knew, someone he'd seen in the hall or in the cafeteria. Someone who knew Duncan, obviously, but it seemed like everyone in school knew Duncan. He was cool, he was strong, he was an athlete. And he'd made a name for himself beating up people he didn't like.

Which mostly meant Dexter. 

And he just hung there, quiet, knowing whatever he said would just make this take longer. 

"Guess he didn't feel like _hanging_ around?" And even Duncan laughed at that, and Dexter kept his mouth shut, swaying as Duncan shook him.

He could feel something warm and wet trickle down his chin. He wondered how many Band-Aids he had left.

And then Duncan threw him forward, and his two blurry brutes had to scatter when he went flying. He managed to catch himself before his face met the cement again, but it meant his hands did instead. 

He hissed when the stone bit into his palms.

But, hey, bright side - he'd landed near his glasses.

He reached out for them, had barely brushed his fingers against the frames, when another voice called out. Loud, harsh, startling. 

"Hey!"

On instinct, he drew back, curled up, waited. But nothing landed.

He chanced putting on his glasses, just now noticing the faint buzzing, crackling, in the air. He glanced out over his shoulder to see a wall of red spandex.

Freakazoid stood with his back to Dexter, one hand planted firmly on his hip, the other outstretched, one waggling finger thrust into Duncan’s face. Dexter bit back a groan, slowly edging away. His hands stung, and there were spots of blood on the pavement. 

Just how he wanted his day to go.

He could hear Freakazoid in the background, berating and taunting his brother in turns, but Dexter ignored it. He’d hear about it later, he was sure, and at the moment all he wanted to do was hole himself up in his room with Mr. Chubbikins and never come out again. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

Dexter chanced another look behind him - no one was paying him any mind anymore, all focused instead on superhero lecturing Duncan about bullying (and Dexter was sure he’d heard those lines before, Freak must be pulling them from one of those videos the school made them watch every now and then). He’d pay for this later, with Freak’s puppy eyes and Duncan’s fists, but he wanted to go _home_. He could deal with what came later, later. 

Dexter scrambled to his feet, ready to run, hissing as he noticed for the first time the pain in his knee - a quick glance down told him there was no blood, but a bruise was already starting to form. Still, he tried limping down the sidewalk. 

He didn’t get very far. 

He wasn’t sure what gave him away. Maybe he was too loud getting up, or maybe someone had noticed him in the crowd, trying to sneak away. Whatever it was, Dexter only managed a few short steps before he was swept off his feet - quite literally - and into the arms of the city’s resident superhero. 

Freak held him tightly, inviting no room for struggle. 

“Fear not, citizen,” he announced in his _“noble superhero voice.”_ “I’ll escort you to safety!” And then they were off. 

Dexter yelped, clinging tightly to Freak’s suit, the fabric bunching in his hands as Freak zipped them down the streets. His stomach churned and rose, and he grit his teeth together to keep the bile down. 

And then, just as suddenly as they’d started, they stopped. 

Dexter groaned and pushed away from Freak, which didn’t work particularly well considering he was still being held. Still, he’d rather vomit on the floor than on Freak’s suit (that had happened once, the first time Freak had zipped him somewhere. They’d barely stopped and Dexter had retched all over the front of them both, and Freak had made a huge show of being grossed out, but had insisted on helping Dexter out first, and even now he still didn’t know what to make of that). 

Freak walked him to the bed and set him down. Dexter was saved from having to look up at him by Mr. Chubbikins, who mewled at the disturbance and waddled over to settle on Dexter’s lap. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

And Dexter wished he could find it weird, how quiet this loud, brash superhero could be. But he’d known Freak for months now, and he knew how soft the hero could be as well. 

And he was particularly grateful for that, since no one other than Dexter and Mr. Chubbikins were even aware that D.C.’s newest superhero lived in the Douglas household. Specifically, that he lived in the room of one Dexter Douglas, who’d had to go out and buy a stack of mattress pads and cushions, which they used to fashion a makeshift bed small enough to tuck under his own when it wasn’t in use. 

Not that anyone ever came up to his room - their room? - anyway, but still. 

“Dexie,” Freak ducked down, snapping Dexter’s attention back up to him. “Are you ok?” 

“Y-yeah,” Dexter squeaked. He grimaced and cleared his throat, tried again. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure? You’re bleeding.” 

And didn’t those puppy eyes just drag him right back in. He scratched Mr. Chubbikins behind the ears, but couldn’t even pretend to look down at him anymore. 

“Yeah,” Dexter said again. “It’s just a few scrapes. A-a Band-Aid or two and I’ll be just fine.” 

Freak stared at him, laser-focused, those electric-blue eyes piercing right into the very heart of him. 

And then he was gone, zipping away, leaving Dexter alone with his thoughts and his bleeding chin and hands. 

Dexter had a moment to be surprised, and almost enough of a moment for that surprise to morph into disappointment, before there was another crackle of electricity and a rush of air. And there was Freakazoid, crouched down in front of him, box in hand. 

Freak upended the whole box of Band-Aids on the bed next to Dexter. There weren’t very many left. 

And then, without preamble, Freak picked one up, peeled it open, and leaned in close. Dexter did his absolute best not to look him in the eye. Freak stuck his tongue out in concentration, the Band-Aid stretched taut in his hands as he contemplated the perfect positioning. 

“Ah, I can get this, Freak,” Dexter said, but Freak quickly shushed him, tilted Dexter’s head back, and gently pressed the bandage down. 

Freak pulled away, face back into puppy-mode. 

“How’s that?” 

Dexter blinked, the sudden lack of blue superhero in his face disorienting him. 

“It’s… It’s great, Freak. Thanks.” 

Freak looked so happy that Dexter didn’t have the heart to tell him that they needed to put antiseptic on first. He could do that himself, later. 

For now, he would enjoy Freak’s attention, could pretend Freak hadn’t grabbed his hands just to plaster them with their remaining Band-Aids. 

For now, Freak was here, and smiling, and Dexter could smile, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that's been rattling around in my brain for a while. I've always been a huge fan of Freakazoid, and I wanted to explore what might happen if they each had their own bodies.
> 
> “404 Error” by VanillaSpiders on ff was a huge inspiration, and is also just a wonderful bit of writing. Definitely go check it out!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this and, please, remember to comment and kudos! They both absolutely make my day!


End file.
